


Close Encounters Part Eight

by JaneDavitt



Series: Close Encounters [8]
Category: Psych
Genre: Angst, Handcuffs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-13
Updated: 2010-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-11 18:25:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/115539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneDavitt/pseuds/JaneDavitt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lassiter tries to push Shawn away and fails miserably.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close Encounters Part Eight

"I'm just saying that I prefer not to work with Spencer again." Carlton's mouth was dry. Every time he said Spencer's name, he thought about the man -- hard to avoid under the circumstances, but he'd been doing his best all day. Spencer had at least shown a vestige of self-preservation and stayed away from the station. Carlton didn't think that he would have shot him on sight, not in front of witnesses, anyway, but it was a theory he didn't want to test.

"So you've said in the past," Chief Vick pointed out. "Many times, in fact. Mr. Spencer's file contains no less than three lengthy letters from you detailing your misgivings about his ability and -- though I can't see the relevance -- his appearance."

"He's scruffy," Carlton said defensively. "This station is filled with men and women who wear their uniform with pride or make an effort to present an appearance that does the police force credit. If Spencer was on an undercover assignment as a vagrant, his appearance might just possibly be acceptable, but -- "

"He's a consultant," Vick said, rising to her feet. "He can dress how he pleases and as long as it doesn't affect his contributions to your solve rate, which is admirable, I don't care what he puts on when he gets up in the morning."

"I doubt he crawls out of bed before noon," Carlton said bitterly. "Chief, I'm serious. I can't work with him again. I won't. This department managed fine before he came on the scene and we can go back to that arrangement quite --"

"Why?" Vick interrupted him to ask, leaning forward, her hands pressed against her desk. "You've had your difficulties adjusting to each other, but overall, I'd say you and O'Hara have worked well with Mr. Spencer and Mr. Guster, even become friendly."

"Huh?" Carlton said, his heart pounding with fear that she knew, that Spencer had told her, told everyone. There was a burst of laughter from the bullpen and he spun around, glaring, only to see McNabb pick himself up from the floor, shaking his head ruefully and rubbing his butt. He tried to regulate his breathing to something less like a man at the end of a sprint. "I've done no such thing."

"Whatever," Chief Vick said. "Unless you've got something concrete to base your sudden change of heart on --"

"It's not sudden. I've never liked him." Carlton took a deep breath, feeling the nervous sweat prickle along his spine. He could smell himself, rank with apprehension and shame at his gullibility. Believing Spencer when he'd said it was more than a fling, that he wanted to stick around… Oh, he could just imagine how Spencer and Guster had snickered over him like the immature idiots they were.

"Detective," Vick snapped. "Has anything changed in your relationship with Mr. Spencer that I should know about? Have you discovered something to his detriment?"

Short of pulling down the collar of his shirt to show her the bruise Spencer's mouth had left on his shoulder, there didn't seem to be anything he could do to persuade Chief Vick to ban Spencer from entering the department unless he was being arrested.

Defeated, Carlton shook his head. "Nothing new," he said dully.

"Then the arrangement will stand," the Chief said. She pointed at the door. "I think that's all, Detective Lassiter."

He walked out with his head high and his face scarlet. He got a few curious looks from people who probably assumed he'd had his ass handed to him by Chief Vick, but he sneered at them until they looked away. That worked on most people. There was one exception, one man who just smiled at him or threw an arm around his shoulders when he was scowling, but come to think of it, last night he'd managed to make Spencer drive away, his shoulders slumped, with just a few words and a loaded gun.

Everything had changed and as it usually did, for the worse.

***

Spencer walked in mid-afternoon, jaunty, already babbling, his gaze darting around the room, a jittery energy filling him. Carlton had seen Spencer like this before and thought of triple espressos and cuffing him until he stopped fighting and calmed down, but today he busied himself with the papers on his desk after that first glance. The need to walk over, put his hands on Spencer, turn him, shove him away, hard, so that Spencer stumbled and fell, sprawled gracelessly at Carlton's feet, supplicant, humbled was strong enough to taste, his mouth dry with it. He wanted to break Spencer the way that Spencer had shattered him.

He knew when Spencer was walking toward him, even with his back resolutely turned. He could feel the wake the man created in what had been a calm sea, the ripples smacking into him, boisterous and cold. Across from him, O'Hara was smiling a welcome, her fingers twirling a pen. Carlton followed the loops it made as intently as if it mattered, tuning out her cheerful greeting and Spencer's flirtatious response.

Without a word, not caring that O'Hara had asked him a question -- he hadn't been listening, but she'd said his name on a rising note so he assumed she had, anyway -- Carlton shoved back his chair and walked away.

Spencer didn't follow him. Carlton could tell because it stayed quiet and no one grabbed his arm. He found himself outside, the sun shining down placidly, the city going about its normal business. He'd left his desk, left the station, just to escape Spencer. Disgust at his weakness curled through him like a hair in a drink, revolting him. He took a deep, slow breath. That station was his. Spencer was the intruder, not him. He was going back inside and he was going to look Spencer in the eye and --

"He's really sorry."

Carlton had his hand on his gun before he identified the speaker. Shooting something would be such a comfort, but he'd already spent two hours at the range before his shift began and his hands ached from gripping his gun. Pretending the targets were Spencer hadn't been as therapeutic as he'd hoped.

Guster flinched. "Whoa! Don't shoot the peacemaker."

"He told you what happened?" Carlton demanded incredulously. He shook his head. "What am I saying. Of course he did. Too funny to keep to himself, right?" He was smiling now, the manic grin that had made Victoria shudder.

"Shawn didn't think it was funny," Guster said with a precision that got Carlton's attention. "He woke me up to tell me about it, yeah, but neither of us were laughing."

The steps leading up to the door were empty, but it wasn't really the place for private conversations. Carlton grabbed Guster's arm and walked him over to his ridiculous little blue car, resisting the urge to slam Guster up against it.

"I'm going to say this once," Carlton gritted out. "What happened yesterday didn't happen. None of it. It's in your best interests to help me believe that, because if it did happen, I'd have to shoot your friend and leave his limp, bleeding body on --"

Guster's face twisted with disapproval and he pushed Carlton away with more strength than Carlton expected. Tweaking his pale lime shirt into place, Guster said sharply, "Believe _me_ , if they made an amnesia pill, I'd be trampling over _your_ lifeless body to get it. The thought of you and Shawn getting naked and freaky is just…" He shuddered. "Hell, no. But it happened, and we all know it did, so stop hiding from it -- or Shawn. You know what he's like. Run away and he'll chase you. It's what he does."

"He was the only one running away last night," Carlton said bitterly. "Running off to laugh at how he'd fooled me."

Guster sighed. "You scared him."

Carlton gaped at him, guilt rendering him momentarily speechless until common sense returned. Some of his fantasies about Shawn had been born in the darker, kinkier corners of his mind, but he hadn't done anything to Spencer that Spencer hadn't begged for. "I did no such thing. If he says I did, he's lying. He _asked_ me to -- "

Guster yelped and levitated a few inches. "No! No details! Ever!"

Carlton shoved out his lower lip. "Fine. I'm just saying, he seemed to be enjoying it."

"Not the point," Guster said. He glanced over Carlton's shoulder. "Shit, he's coming. Look, he ran out on you because he's a commitment-phobic asshole, we both know that, but take it as a compliment."

"Why?" Carlton said, too lost in confusion to register that Spencer was heading over which meant that he needed to be someplace else.

Guster pushed his face closer. His breath smelled of root beer and vanilla, and his eyes were as innocent as a kitten's. "Because he runs with everyone, but you're the only one he went back to. You got an apology. Shawn never does that."

Carlton remembered Spencer's voice on the phone, hesitant and rushed at the same time, stumbling through something that, yes, just about qualified as an apology. He swallowed and stepped back, away from the one friend Spencer had, something a lot of people overlooked. Spencer might be popular but not many people wanted to hang around with him for long. "I don't care. I can't trust him again. It's over."

"But we'd only just started," Spencer said.

Carton turned on his heel and found himself entirely too close to Spencer, who'd stopped vibrating enough for the cracks to show. His cat-green eyes were shadowed, sleep crusting the dark eyelashes, and the tooth fairy wouldn't approve of the way Spencer had apparently skipped on floss, brush, and mouthwash that morning. He smelled rough, he looked unkempt, and Carlton wanted to shove him under a shower and hold him there until Spencer's skin was rosy with heat and scrubbed clean. Then he'd drown him in the spray.

He rubbed his hand across his forehead. Okay, he had to stop thinking about different ways to kill Spencer. They both knew that he never would, so it wasn't as if voicing them would make Spencer do more than smile.

Guster popped up at Spencer's side which was obscurely comforting. Without Guster, Spencer looked…lop-sided. "You two have stuff to talk about."

"We really don't," Carlton said coldly.

Guster sighed. "Please. Talk. Or he'll talk to _me_ and I can't take much more and stay sane."

"If you're still friends with him, I'm not sure you qualify as sane or even adult."

"Ouch," Shawn said, a flicker of hurt showing. It killed Carlton that he could see it, identify it, know it to be genuine. He didn't _want_ to be like Guster, attuned to the wild oscillations of Shawn Spencer's metronome.

He didn't want to know what it was like to hold Shawn, feel him break apart as he came, put him back together with his hands and mouth, piece by piece until Shawn was Shawn again.

He _didn't_.

By the time he'd collected his thoughts enough to come up with the perfect combination of words to make time go backward to about 11.00 A.M. the previous day, at which point he would _not_ go into the men's room, would _not_ meet Spencer, _not_ be seduced, _not_ kiss him at work -- at _work_ \-- Guster had jumped into his car and driven away fast enough to have earned a ticket if Carlton had still been working Traffic, which was where he deserved to be.

"Talking sounds good," Spencer said, his voice quiet, even reasonable, which was scary coming from him. "Or I could hold still and let you hit me, which is what I'm sensing you want to do."

"I wouldn't do that, " Carlton said. A fair fight, yes, but punching Spencer knowing that he wouldn't hit back? That didn't do anything for him. "Spencer, I said everything I wanted to say last night --"

"What's really making you angry?" Shawn asked, his head tilted slightly to the side. "That I left, or that you thought I wasn't coming back?"

"They're the same thing!"

"Not really." Shawn yawned, wide and uninhibited. "Sorry. I didn't get much sleep last night. Think I might go and catch up if you're sure you don't want to yell at me or skip to the part where you forgive me and we have make-up sex, the really hot, passionate kind, all moaning and licking and maybe you bite my ear and I --"

"Spencer!" Carlton took an unwary step forward and collided with an unmoving object. Spencer felt warm and familiar when Carlton grabbed his arms, but that didn't stop him from pushing Spencer aside once he'd regained his balance. "We are _done_."

"I'll catch you later, then," Spencer called after him.

Unbelievable. Carlton shook his head as if a persistent fly was buzzing around it and stalked back into the station and over to his desk, his head throbbing.

When he sat down, he realized that he was half-hard, his dick as confused as the rest of him. Peachy.

***

His place was going to need fumigating to get rid of the memories, but as Carlton pushed open the door that night, his overwhelming desire was for a shower and sleep. He'd taken care of food at the station, chewing unenthusiastically on a stale sandwich and a granola bar O'Hara had given him. He'd stayed at work until he was down to organizing the paperclips in his pen tray at which point he'd given up hoping that something exciting was going to break that would need him awake and alert.

He was so tired that he wasn't even sure he could aim his gun straight.

The shower, as hot as he could take it, helped. He turned his face up to the spray and closed his eyes, letting the water wash away his thoughts, his regrets, the ache of longing. It didn't do a very good job. He'd _wanted_ Spencer. He'd loved every fucking minute of Shawn's clumsy, calculated seduction and it wasn't the hot water making him sweat, but the memory of Shawn's mouth on him, shaped around Carlton's erection so perfectly.

Part of him was screaming that it wasn't fair to give him that for a few hours, then snatch it back.

He slammed his fist against the tiled wall and panted out a litany of curses aimed at Spencer, himself, the whole crappy mess, the hiss of the water dulling the sound of his words.

When he was done, emptied out and hollow, he turned the water off, got out, and rubbed himself dry, lassitude making him fumble and drop the towel when he tried to wrap it around his waist.

The hell with it. He was only going to bed.

He walked through his apartment, turning off the lights as he went, and into his dark bedroom where the bed was waiting for him, freshly made, a door to oblivion. He closed his eyes, walked forward, and fell onto it.

He was expecting smooth sheets, a soft pillow, a gentle give as the mattress took his weight. He got a squirming body, a yelp of surprise, and an elbow in the face.

"What the _hell_?"

"Don't shoot!"

"Spencer, what in the name of God are you --"

Carlton got off the bed, heedless of his nudity, and turned on the lamp. Spencer was handcuffed to his bed by one wrist, as naked as Carlton, his clothes…Carlton glanced around the room and saw them in a heap on the floor. Typical.

"You're later than I expected," Spencer said reproachfully before Carlton could continue questioning him. "I really need to pee, so could you find the key -- I threw it over there somewhere -- and let me out for just long enough to take care of that, then I swear I'll let you cuff me again."

"I'll unlock them," Carlton said, trembling with anger and shock, unable to look away once he'd made the mistake of letting his gaze linger. Spencer was leaning back against the headboard, his cuffed arm crooked awkwardly, but Carlton wasn't looking at the metal circling Spencer's wrist, tethering him in place, or the faint lines discomfort had drawn around Spencer's mouth. He was looking at Spencer's dick, hard, flushed dark, waiting to be touched. Had Spencer made it look like that deliberately, working it through the hole his fist made as soon as he'd heard Carlton's footsteps, the grate of his key? Or had he been lying here like this for hours, aroused by the waiting, the anticipation? Carlton wanted to know but he couldn't let Spencer play him like this. "I'll unlock them and use them to beat you to death with, you arrogant little shit. This is my house and you had no right to walk in and --" He paused. The towel had been damp. The soap had been slick to the touch… "Oh my God. You used my shower."

"You wanted me to cuff myself to your bed all sweaty?" Shawn pursed his lips. "Kind of kinky, but I'll bear it in mind for next time."

"There won't be a next time," Carlton said and started to look for the key. If he didn't find it in the next thirty seconds, he'd just tear the cuff off Spencer with his bare hands.

"You're not asking why I did this."

"I don't care," Carlton snapped, craning his neck to look under a chest of drawers. Nothing. Was that something glinting by the baseboard? "And it was a stupid thing to do. Suppose there'd been a fire?" Bondage wasn't something he'd ever experimented with, but he was fairly certain one of the rules was that you didn't leave someone alone if they were tied up. He was also certain that it still applied if someone abandoned themselves.

Spencer sighed as Carlton got to his feet. "Only if my naughty thoughts set the bed alight. Come on, Lassie. Let me tell you. And ooh, is that for me?"

"I'm angry," Carlton said coldly, not bothering to hide the fact that he was aroused, if not as much as Spencer. Kind of pointless to try when all that he was wearing was air and Spencer had seen, touched, and tasted every inch of his dick the night before. What did Spencer expect when he was flaunting himself like this, anyway? "That's all."

"You mean that all the times you're yelling at me, you've got one of those tucked away in your shorts? Nice. I can't wait for the next time I'm a bad boy."

"Save it, Spencer," Carlton said, not caring that his weariness was showing. "I'm tired and I need to sleep. I don't know what perverted games you're playing, but I'm not interested."

"Not a game," Shawn said. "Just a bright idea. Last time, I blew it by…well, we both know what I did. I said I was sorry and I meant it, but everyone gets a second chance and this is yours."

"You mean yours."

As soon as he said it, he knew he'd been trapped. Spencer beamed at him. "I knew you'd forgive me."

"I didn't --"

"Lassie, you're not going to be one of those boyfriends who keep bringing up the past, are you? I hope not." Shawn rattled his cuffed wrist. "This is how you can make sure I stay put until you're ready to kick me out."

"I'm sorry," Carlton said with exaggerated politeness. "Are you seriously suggesting that I fuck you and then chain you to my bed?"

"Yes," said Shawn and produced a key from under the pillow, making Carlton's mouth fall open in disbelief. "What? You said yourself you'd have to be an idiot not to keep a key in reach."

"You had me looking for it and it was under your -- _my_ pillow the whole time?"

"I said I threw it. I didn't say I didn't catch it."

Carlton took a step forward, intent on wresting the key from Shawn, even if that made no sense at all, just so that he could be the one to release him, but it was too late.

"Really got to pee," Shawn said apologetically and undid his cuff. "Aiming might be a problem, but I'll try not to sprinkle when I tinkle."

Carlton stepped aside wordlessly, defeated and confused, and let Spencer go. At least it left him an empty bed to lie on. He fitted his body into the patch of warmth Shawn had left behind and closed his eyes. Maybe when he woke the world would start making sense again.


End file.
